The Plagues of Pandora

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tyler Webb straightened his laptop, taking care to precisely align each side so it was perpendicular to the edges of his dark oak table, before clicking a button and settling back into his sumptuous seat.

“We are the Pythians,” he said. “What news have you?”

Five mini-screens sat before his eyes, each one filled with the face of a fellow conspirator. This was the first time they had tried video-link, but summoning every member in person whenever they needed a meeting was fast becoming problematic, not to mention annoying.

“Threat level has risen in the three plague cities,” General Stone reported. “No credible reason as to why.”

Webb detected an underlying tone but let it go. Perhaps the general was pushed for time or, more likely, irritated at being turned into Nicholas Bell’s nursemaid. “Don’t they have ways of monitoring chatter?” Webb said off-handedly with a tired gesture. “The threat level goes up and down all the time as a response. I shouldn’t need to tell you that, Stone.”

“Sure.”

“And that’s by no means a bad thing,” Miranda Le Brun said smoothly. “Makes the game all the more interesting.”

“Since the factory is now up and running,” Webb continued. “I think it important that one or two of us oversee the operation. Yes, yes, I know it’s a long flight over there but the task will help stop boredom setting in. With that in mind I was thinking — Miranda and Nicholas? What do you think?”

Bell was quick to jump in. “I’m happy to do that!”

Webb concealed a smile. Perhaps the builder was as exasperated with Stone as the general clearly was with him.

Le Brun smoothed her hair. “I suppose so,” she said with an air of tedium. “Anything to help the cause.”

Webb could have happily throttled her, but calmed his anger. The Pythians were working surprisingly well together, and Le Brun herself was up soon with her own little project. If she didn’t prove herself then perhaps his most recent fantasy could become a blissful reality. Of course, he thought. You don’t simply throttle someone, even Le Brun. You have to tenderize them first. Make them afraid. Derail their life.

Stalk them.

“Once the factory is productive,” he went on quickly. “We will need another meeting by the… falls. In the tower.” Despite the highest security allowing real name references and the net of secrecy cast over their campaigns, Webb still remained cagey about referencing his exact location over the wires.

Stone was talking off-screen, most likely to Bell, and turned back. “Sorry, it’s not like Bell and Le Brun have jobs is it? Maybe they should both stop trying to pretend they’re doing us a huge favor by… flying over there.”

Webb sighed. “All right. Are we really bickering now? General — you are a public figure. Until you’re compromised — which we all hope is many years from now — you should remain in that position. I don’t have to remind you how helpful it’s already been to our cause.”

“Yes, sure. I’m good.”

“In the end,” Webb made sure he kept the floor, “thousands or even hundreds of thousands may die to further our cause. But for now, let’s look at our upcoming projects.” His observations were mere gusts of air, of no real consistence and without conscience, meaningless figures to the ears that listened. “So sayeth the king of maniacs,” he then added with a harsh laugh. “Glossing over the facts, making light of the crushed bodies we will trample beneath our feet, ignoring their pain and suffering. But hasn’t it always been that way?”

“Amen,” Le Brun said heartily.

“The weak will be crushed beneath our boots like dying leaves,” Stone said, a little too flamboyantly for Webb’s taste.

“You mentioned our upcoming projects?” Robert Norris, the SolDyn exec, checked his watch. “I have a meeting I just can’t get out of in fifteen.”

A little deflated, Webb understood the exec’s dilemma. “It’s fine. We’ll talk in more depth later. Just to say that Clifford’s ‘lost kingdom’ theory is already bearing fruit and Miranda’s ‘galleons’ concept, if it proves to be true, sounds utterly intriguing—”

“I’ve always been fascinated by them,” Le Brun put in.

“Galleons?” Stone asked with an arched smile.

“These particular galleons,” Le Brun said. “You’ll see.”

“And over all,” Webb said grandly, “Saint Germain. The Wonderman. The occultist. The Prince of Transylvania. The philosopher—”

“Can we get on?” Norris asked.

Webb fought down an even stronger urge to throttle someone. “… and the greatest adventurer with more treasures, relics and artefacts than any man, any museum, has ever known,” he finished as if he’d been meaning to conclude that way. “Which have never… ever… been found.”

“Fantastic,” Stone said drily. “The sooner we can get three or four of these undertakings going at once the happier I will be about the final scheme.”

“The other reason I called this video conference,” Webb continued emotionlessly. “Is to officially announce that we’re ready to push the button on the Pandora project. I thought you all might want to be present the moment we start rolling on the three plague pits. This is a magnificent moment for the Pythians.” Webb swelled out his chest and gave the magnanimous wide smile. “All assets are in place. The factory is ready. The backup facility is prepared—” he glanced around. That last statement was a little premature, but hopeful. “Are we ready?”

Excited nods and statements of approval told him he had chosen well.

“Then let’s begin.”